The Amazing Mr Peabody & His Amazing Boy Sherman
by TwistingMoonbeam
Summary: A collection of one-shots chronicling the adventures of Papa Peabody and little Sherman as Mr. Peabody goes on the greatest adventure of all: fatherhood. R&R appreciated!
1. His Beautiful Boy

**His Beautiful Boy**

For someone who owned a time machine, Mr. Peabody was shocked by how fast time truly was.

It seemed like mere seconds had gone by, but in reality, he had been a father to Sherman, the boy he had found forgotten in the rain and had fought tooth and nail to adopt, for a year. A whole _year. _A year of alarming discovery, a year of sleepless nights, a year of irritating press about his amazing court victory—but a year Mr. Peabody didn't regret in the slightest either way.

Sherman had grown quite a bit since Mr. Peabody had found him alone in the alley. It was a wonder how Sherman could support that big head of his, and a miracle that he hadn't completely shattered his glasses yet. Sherman, despite only being a year old, was already showing signs of energetic rambunctiousness—Mr. Peabody would only have to glance away for a moment before the baby was off crawling into more adventures. His hair was growing too: a brilliant shade of red, like a blooming poinsettia.

Mr. Peabody remembered the night he had found Sherman vividly, for it was one of the most important nights of his life. He had been walking home from his after-dinner stroll when a freak car accident had taken out his normal route. He had been forced to make a detour down a road he wasn't one hundred percent familiar with, although he hadn't been worried. A fine Sunday evening like that? New York City had been at too much peace for him to worry over silly little things like long ways home.

At some point during his walk, it had started to rain. Thin, cold droplets had fallen from the positively steely sky, and darkness was closing in over the city. But a simple spring shower wasn't enough to make Mr. Peabody hurry home; in fact, he quite enjoyed a good rainfall. It felt almost like a cleansing ritual. Out with any old inhibitions and in with new feelings of innovation and open-ended possibilities. Also, naturally, he had been clever enough to estimate that it would have rained at some point during his stroll (a simple equation really, combining variables like the last time it had rained, the average recorded rainfall for April, the cloud density for that afternoon, and the likely probability that Rhonda on Channel 6 was wrong about her weather predictions for the day, as per usual), so he had equipped himself with his favorite red umbrella before he had left the penthouse.

When passing an alleyway, he had been caught off guard by the sound of crying. He could hear it plain as day through the rain, and it was close. Glancing into the alley, Mr. Peabody noticed a crumpled, beaten cardboard box hiding in the dim shadows. He had approached it warily, and had found poor little Sherman in it, crying up a storm large enough to match the one raging right above him.

But then the baby had silenced when he saw Mr. Peabody. In fact, he seemed to pull a complete 180 and started to smile and giggle. It was as if the smallest ray of sunshine could make his day.

Mr. Peabody had been his ray of sunshine. And Mr. Peabody couldn't have been more honored. There was something he had seen in Sherman that was much stronger than the simple humanity the dog thrived with; the boy was just precious in every sense of the word, and obviously not in a very good place. Mr. Peabody had looked around, trying to find any clues that Sherman's parents had been here, but like ghosts, they left no trace. All that was here was Sherman, the baby who had been left in the rain.

But also, Mr. Peabody looked into those innocent brown eyes and had taken a glimpse into the past for which hadn't needed the WABAC. For Sherman reminded him of a certain sarcastic little puppy who, too, wore glasses too big for him and, too, wanted a home.

But unlike Mr. Peabody, Sherman was going to get a home. And so he had, months of court dates later. And today marked the one year anniversary that Mr. Peabody and Sherman had been together (Mr. Peabody was also counting today as Sherman's first birthday). One year's worth of memories. So Mr. Peabody decided that today was going to be special.

The morning dawned bright and pearly. Mr. Peabody had waited for Sherman to wake up, and then he brought the boy to the kitchen table, where he strapped him into his high chair and put a birthday hat on him.

"Happy birthday, Sherman!" he said, green eyes twinkling with delight. He put a birthday hat on himself and blew into a noisemaker. Sherman tried to grab at it with his chubby hands, but missed.

Mr. Peabody placed Sherman's favorite breakfast on his high chair tray: a sippy cup of whole milk, scrambled eggs, and slices of ham diced into teeny, _teeny _pieces. Sticking a lit candle into the eggs, Mr. Peabody sang happy birthday to Sherman, who clapped nonsensically and laughed.

"Hmm." Mr. Peabody held his chin, unsatisfied. That was it? That was all he had to offer to his only son's first birthday? Unthinkable. There had to be more he could do!

For starters, Mr. Peabody determined, he could give Sherman a birthday song worth loving. So for the next hour, Mr. Peabody played "happy birthday" on every instrument he knew how to play. Halfway through, he allowed his son to actually blow out his candle and eat his breakfast, but he gave Sherman a special concert to fully enunciate to the boy how fantastic today was.

But what to do now? It was nearly 11'clock! Sherman's birthday was almost halfway over, and he had barely begun to celebrate it!

Steam rushed out of Mr. Peabody's ears. Certainly not! The day had just blossomed! They still had so much time!

Next, Mr. Peabody decided to take Sherman to his favorite park. Granted, there was only _one _park near the penthouse, but it was Sherman's favorite all the same. Mr. Peabody dressed Sherman, brushed his budding teeth, washed his face, combed his hair, and cleaned his glasses. Then he put Sherman in his stroller and they were off.

The day was simply divine. The air was warm, there was a slight breeze, and the sun was beaming. It was like today _knew _how important it was to be perfect. The weather seemed to be celebrating Sherman's birthday, too.

As it should! In Mr. Peabody's book, today was practically a national holiday.

The plant life in the park was a healthy shade of green and the area was tranquil. To Mr. Peabody's relief, the park was empty of any other children or parents. He liked to make friends as much as the next guy, but he just didn't have time today to explain to the people who were unaware of who he was how he was a talking, walking dog with a human son. Plus some people tended to not be as pleasant about the whole thing as he would prefer, in which case he would make sure Sherman was far away enough to properly explain to those who argued with his happiness in a prim, correct way that he had won the right to adopt Sherman in a _human _court of law, and that was that.

They went to the swingset and Mr. Peabody plopped Sherman gently into the baby seat. He wet his paw and checked the wind, finding that the breeze wasn't a large enough variable to consider for Sherman's swinging experience (the boy was so tiny—a gust could sweep him right out of his seat!).

"Okay, now, Sherman," Mr. Peabody said. "Are you ready? I'm going to push you. Of course, I'm sure you know this, because you go on the swing all the time, but I just wanted to prepare you."

"Swing!" Sherman giggled.

And so he did. Mr. Peabody pushed Sherman with careful precision, watching the arc Sherman made with calculations running through his mind. With his current pushing speed and strength, Sherman wasn't going to go too high. So he allowed his guard to fall a bit, indulging in the laughter of his son, who stretched his arms up to the sky, as if trying to punch a hole into the clouds.

The park started to get a tad more crowded. A couple families were sitting at a bench near the jungle gym as their children chased each other. It made Mr. Peabody think back to the first time Sherman had walked. It had only been a couple wobbly steps, but Mr. Peabody had praised him like he had invented the hovercraft (which he hadn't, obviously—Mr. Peabody was in the experimental process with his prototype).

But before long, Mr. Peabody had gotten bored with pushing Sherman. Of course, he wasn't bored with his son's joy, nor was he tired, but he couldn't stand doing the same thing for an extended period of time. It certainly explained his abhorrence to fetch (even though there were _many _more reasons why he didn't play the useless, repetitive human-dog game).

"Sherman? Are you ready to do something else?" Mr. Peabody asked.

The boy clapped and pointed to the bright blue slide. Mr. Peabody lifted Sherman out of his swing, and the second his tiny feet touched the ground, Sherman was off scurrying to the slide. But he tripped over his toes and fell flat on his face.

"Sherman!" Mr. Peabody was at his side in an instant, crouching down to inspect his son's body for scratches. "Are you okay, my boy?" he worried. _No broken bones, he's still standing, no blood, he doesn't seem dizzy—_

Sherman was on his way again.

Mr. Peabody shook his head. His boy sure was persistent.

Sherman reached up for the ladder prongs with impatient huffs. Mr. Peabody had been through this process countless times: he was much too short to just easily place Sherman at the top of the slide, and he was much too worried to let the boy slide on his own, so he balanced Sherman on his shoulders and climbed to the top of the slide with ease. Then, with Sherman in his lap, he chuckled, "Ready, Sherman?"

Obviously, the boy was. And down they went, Sherman screaming in delight, like this rickety old slide was a roller coaster. They repeated this five more times until Sherman yawned.

"I thought it was about time for your afternoon nap," Mr. Peabody told him as he put him back in the stroller.

Sherman fell asleep at some point on their way back to the penthouse. Mr. Peabody settled his son into his crib and then retreated to the kitchen to fix himself some lunch. But as he grilled chicken for a salad, his mind was racing with displeasure.

So far, he and Sherman had merely done normal, everyday activities. Hardly the kinds of things people did on their birthdays. But Sherman was one! How else do you spend a birthday with someone so young?

Despite it, Mr. Peabody wanted today to be special, not exceedingly ordinary. But what to do? He was Mr. Hector Peabody, for Pete's sake! He was the most extraordinary dog in the world! He had accomplished more than most humans did and also knew more than most humans would ever know. But where else could they go to celebrate his anniversary with his beautiful little boy?

The answer hit Mr. Peabody like a kick to the gut. A knowing, excited smirk lit up his face.

"Not _where_," he murmured as he flipped the chicken. "But _when_."

**OoO**

"We're _heeeeeere_!"

Mr. Peabody rose from his chair and unbuckled Sherman from his car seat. He carried the boy out of the WABAC, and frowned at the rain that was falling on New York City, circa 1980. It wasn't a _huge _deal, since Mr. Peabody had correctly guessed that the weather might have been a downer through glancing over some old weather reports he had excavated on the Internet, so he had his trusty umbrella, but still. This wasn't proper birthday weather!  
"It appears, Sherman," Mr. Peabody mused at he parked the WABAC, making it turn invisible, "that wherever we go, rain follows."

Sherman seemed transfixed by the rain, though. Mr. Peabody had noticed that the boy like a friendly little rainfall, but he was showing signs of having storm anxiety. But perhaps Mr. Peabody was overreacting. The boy was still a baby, after all. (On the other hand, it was never too early to start soothing Sherman of any phobias he may have.)

Mr. Peabody walked down 72nd Street in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He gazed up at the Dakota, the apartment building that housed the man Mr. Peabody was in search for. He felt a little bad, just showing up out of the blue without previous mention, but it was kind of difficult to let someone know you were stopping by when you lived forty years into the future. Surely his friend wouldn't mind a little company on this rainy evening?

Mr. Peabody approached the south entrance and rang for service. A woman's voice buzzed from the voice box: "How may I help you?"

"Yes, hello, I'm here to visit a Mr. John Lennon?" Mr. Peabody said, cordial.

"One moment, please." There was a pause as she called John and asked if he had been expecting anyone. "Mr. Lennon isn't expecting any guests at this time, may I ask for your name?"

"Tell him it's Peabody. Mr. Peabody and his son, Sherman."

Another pause. "Come on in, sir."

A minute later, Mr. Peabody was knocking on the apartment door. He smiled as the door swung open, adjusting his hold on Sherman.

"Peabody!" John Lennon said. "What a surprise! Come in, come in."

"Greetings to you as well, John," Mr. Peabody said, entering the apartment. Yoko Ono sat in the living room, sketching something out in a notebook.

"Hello, Mr. Peabody!" Yoko said, waving.

"Hello, Yoko," Mr. Peabody said warmly. "You're looking as lovely as ever! Still an artist at heart, I see?"

"Oh yes," Yoko replied, raising her eyebrows down at her sketch. "Avant-garde is fascinating, I'm enamored."

"As you should, you're remarkable," Mr. Peabody said.

"And this must be little Sherman!" John said, eyes twinkling behind his circular glasses. "He's just like how you described him at the concert, Peabody."

Mr. Peabody thought back fondly to the Beatles concert he had attended a couple months ago (in present time). A huge Beatles fan, seeing the Beatles perform live was one of the first things Mr. Peabody had wanted to do with the WABAC. After the performance, he had gone up for a simple autograph and ended up spending all night with the four superstars, restaurant-hopping and thrilling the Beatles with his puns and his adventures. He had gone on for at least an hour once they had gotten onto the topic of Sherman, and John Lennon had been particularly familiar with Mr. Peabody's eagerness to be a father and his willingness to fight every court in New York to get the freedom to adopt Sherman.

"He's actually why I'm here, John," Mr. Peabody said as Sherman started reaching for his bowtie. "It's his first birthday, and I was wondering…would you sing _Beautiful Boy _to him?" He wiped a smudge off of Sherman's face with his thumb. "I've been trying all day to give him the best first birthday a father can give. But there's only so _much_ I can give, you see? You know how much of a fan I am. It'd be an honor to us both."

John grinned and picked up the closest guitar. "An honor is right, but it's all mine, Peabody. Take a seat."

Mr. Peabody sat on the couch and held Sherman tenderly in his lap. John set next to them, folded his legs across each other, tuned the guitar, and started to play. He hummed all the extra percussion parts, and Yoko added in harmony when necessary.

_Close your eyes_

_Have no fear_

_The monster's gone,_

_He's on the run, and your daddy's here_

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,_

_Beautiful boy_

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,_

_Beautiful boy_

John's voice, to experience in person, so close and personally, was a dream come true. Mr. Peabody relaxed into the couch and wrapped his arms around Sherman's tummy, holding his boy close.

_Before you go to sleep _

_Say a little prayer_

_Every day in every way,_

_It's getting better and better_

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,_

_Beautiful boy_

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,_

_Beautiful boy_

Mr. Peabody reminisced on today. How positive, playful, and wonderful Sherman was, despite only being one. The intelligence he wielded, his silliness, his ability to just keep going. All the times he had giggled, or smiled, or expressed curiosity, or clapped, or just _accepted _Mr. Peabody for himself. He loved Mr. Peabody.

_Out on the ocean sailing away,_

_I can hardly wait_

_To see you come of age_

_But I guess we'll both _

_Just have to be patient_

_Yes it's a long way to go,_

_But in the meantime_

Mr. Peabody thought of the future. He had a _future _with this little boy. He was going to have many years with him, and was going to get to watch him grow up. It was a terrifying thought: the tiny baby he held now was going to be a young boy, then a teenager, and then an adult. But Mr. Peabody was going to be there for all of it. He was going to cheer Sherman on, and he was going to pick Sherman up when he fell. Sherman was his home, his family, and his future. Sherman was his son. His _boy. _His beautiful, wonderful, adorable, clumsy, red-haired, big-glasses-wearing, loyal, sweet son. His beautiful little boy.

_Before you cross the street,_

_Take my hand,_

_Life is just what happens to you,_

_While you're busy making other plans,_

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,_

_Beautiful boy,_

_Darling, darling, darling,_

_Darling Sherman_

Mr. Peabody beamed up at John for his inclusion of Sherman's name. "Happy birthday, Sherman," John whispered.

It was then when Mr. Peabody realized Sherman had fallen asleep. He cradled Sherman in both hands, scratching his head.

"Thank you so much, John, Yoko," Mr. Peabody whispered.

He left a couple minutes later, umbrella in one hand and Sherman in the other. He noticed how Sherman's hair color was similar to the color of his umbrella, for some unexplainable reason, more happiness swelled in his chest.

"You know, Sherman," he told his sleeping baby, "John wrote that song for his and Yoko's only son, Sean. But John also has another son, Julian Lennon, with a different woman. I'm sure when Yoko found that out, she probably said, _Ono_!"

Of course, Sherman was asleep, so he didn't get a response. Mr. Peabody could only hope that as Sherman got older, he would be able to get his father's magnificent puns.

But either way, Mr. Peabody mused as he stepped inside the WABAC, as long as he was with Sherman, there wasn't a lot to complain about.


	2. Stranger Anxiety

**NOTE: This one-shot is inspired by a headcanon I read on tumblr. I do not take credit for the original idea, only for the following work inspired by it. Thanks!**

**Stranger Anxiety**

It was simply unbelievable.

How could all five of Mr. Peabody's top babysitters be booked this afternoon? Sure, it was understandable for the teenagers Zoe and Kenny because they had school, but Mrs. Hopkins had to have her bingo tournament _today_? Miss McNeil had to win a trip to Hawaii _this _week? Mrs. Carlson had to get her hip replaced _this _afternoon?

Of course, Mr. Peabody had more people he could call—when he realized how busy he still was going to be despite Sherman's new presence in his life, he had interviewed over fifty applicants for his personal babysitter and had at least twenty of them on speed dial for instances like this—but he didn't have the time to try and get someone to rush over to the penthouse. His choice, against his better judgment, had to be to take Sherman to his presentation.

Being a figure of such social and political buzz, Mr. Peabody was no stranger to presentations. He was a master at the art of the eye contact-smile-speak technique, always knew where to put his paws, and he no longer got the jitters when it came to being in front of a crowd. Why, the hullabaloo he had to go through just to adopt Sherman was enough experience to make him a presentation expert!

And today's meeting was really no different than any other short presentation he had ever made. He was to introduce his solution to a new kind of mechanical engine that ran on a measly mixture of oil and pixie stick sugar. It had been one of his easier inventions—two hours of elbow grease had earned him a working prototype. He was showing it to a board of some of the most successful mechanical and chemical engineers in all of New York City. Throw in a couple of charts, a few statistics, and a showcase of the invention, and boom! He had himself a contract and probably another prize to hang on his wall.

Unfortunately, things weren't going swimmingly. By the time he had called the fifth babysitter on his list, it was half past one. The meeting started at two! Sherman was only a baby, he couldn't just leave him home alone.

So, that's how Mr. Peabody found himself speeding off to the meeting, his prototype and rolled-up graphs tucked in the trunk, and his son sitting in his carseat.

Mr. Peabody was aghast. What else was he to do? The board would hopefully react to him bringing in his baby son with a lack of offence. Besides, Sherman was due for a nap. All he had to do was get Sherman asleep, and then things would be fine.

Ten minutes later, he found himself outside the meeting room, paw raised to knock but held back by nervousness. What if they were appalled with his unprofessional behavior? Or worse: what if someone in that room was a member to the "Anti-Doggy-Daddy" campaign that had been created in opposition to his adoption of Sherman?

Mr. Peabody was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to notice the door open for him.

"Mr. Peabody?" It was a heavy set woman, wavy red hair tied back in a bun and nails that had just gotten through a manicure three—no, four hours ago.

"Ah!" He snapped from his revere. "A million apologies, ma'am, that's me!"

The woman ushered him inside, and saw a long table of all women making up the meeting room. They were all dressed professionally, with pencil skirts, blazers, and ties. A projector was set up for his presentation, and the opposing walls were all windows, allowing a view of the sunny May day.

The women around the table all rose and nodded to Mr. Peabody with murmurs of greeting.

"And I see we have an extra guest?" the red-haired woman said. Her nametag read _Charlene Derrickson._

And that's when they all saw him. Baby Sherman, glasses sliding down his button nose, held in Mr. Peabody's grasp like a mystic treasure. Twelve pairs of eyes zeroed in on Mr. Peabody's son, and he waited for the splutters of outrage.

"Oh, Mr. Peabody! He's just precious!"

_What's this?_ He blinked up at the board; everyone was grinning and saying "awww!"

"Is he yours?" a woman at the table with a birthmark around her eye asked.

"You haven't heard, Doris?" the African American woman across from her said. "This is _the _Mr. Peabody! The dog that adopted a human boy!"

Doris gasped, recognition seemingly hitting her. "Of course!"

"I hope this is alright…" Mr. Peabody winced as Sherman held onto his snout. "You see, his usual babysitters are all booked up, and I know it's not right of me to have him here, in a place of work, but—"

"Poppycock," the red-haired woman said. "Don't you worry your head, Mr. Peabody, I'm a mother myself and I know how last-minute these things can be. One of the ladies can just hold him while you speak."

"I'll do it!" Doris extended her hands.

It was a fine idea. Sherman would be taken care of as he presented his engine, and then they both could leave, with his professional reputation intact. But something clenched Mr. Peabody as Doris's hands came closer. He felt anxiety course through him, hot and sickly. It had been over a year since the last time Sherman had been held by someone that wasn't him, and Mr. Peabody didn't know how comfortable he was with someone else's hands holding his boy. Plus he wasn't one-hundred percent certain how Sherman would react. But Mr. Peabody had a job to do.

"Alright then," he said, throat tight. He gently placed Sherman in Doris's arms, watching with a careful eye. To his surprise, Sherman didn't cry, but rather stared up at Doris, mouth forming an "o."

"Hi there, little guy!" Doris cooed. "Oh, Mr. Peabody, he's darling."

"Why thank you." Mr. Peabody couldn't help but feel proud of his boy. Sherman was only a year old and he was okay around strangers! Mr. Peabody attributed it to all the people he had met already due to the WABAC. If Sherman could handle himself around important figures from history, then he could not cry for twenty minutes while Mr. Peabody presented.

"Now that my son is content…" Mr. Peabody made his way over to the projector and plugged in his laptop. As he began to set everything up, he couldn't help but notice in his peripheral vision that the ladies were rising from their seats and surrounding Doris. She was balancing Sherman in her lap, and he was reaching for her pearl necklace.

"Oh no, dear!" Doris coaxed Sherman's grabby fingers away. "This isn't a toy."

"Here, let me have him," an Asian woman with slickly cut black hair said. "I still have one of Andy's rattles."

"Alright, Yuna." Doris passed Sherman into the woman's arms, and she pulled a polka-dotted rattle out of her purse. Sherman's eyes widened from behind his glasses.

"Do you like this, Sherman?" Yuna asked playfully. She shook it in front of his face, and Sherman seemed transfixed by the sound. He shook it once on his own and squealed.

"Oh, the precious angel!" another African American woman said. "I could just eat him up. Lemme have a slice of that Sherman pie, Yuna."

Yuna passed Sherman on, and Mr. Peabody could hear his heart in his floppy ears. Horrible images were plaguing his highly-structured mind: Yuna dropping Sherman, Sherman hitting himself in the face with the rattle, Sherman getting poisoned by the rattle's chemicals, Sherman getting germs from what was clearly another baby's toy—

"My name is Wilma," the woman said, beaming down at Sherman. "Can you say _Wil-ma_?"

"Quick hogging the boy, _Wil-ma_," Doris complained.

"I want to hold him!" an Amazon-like brunette whined.

"Give him here!" a petite blonde with bright red lipstick growled.

And then it happened: the women swarmed Wilma, all cooing over Sherman all at once. It was madness, with Wilma holding Sherman above her head to prevent him from being snatched.

Mr. Peabody gasped and was hit with another vision: Wilma being pushed back, falling to the ground, failing to catch Sherman in time—

His legs spoke before his mouth could. Mr. Peabody scuttled to the throng and tried to push his way through (or at least try to get someone's attention). But his height wasn't helping him out too much.

"Please, ladies!" he tried, desperate to have Sherman out of harm's way. His anxiety was shooting through the roof, the possibilities overwhelming his advanced, expert senses. "I know he's adorable, _I know_! But if you could please just put him down, this isn't safe—"

The sharp sound of a cleared throat apparently did the trick, because everyone stopped and was silent. Mr. Peabody, breathing quickly, looked to Charlene, the woman who had let him in. She stood with rigid, wide shoulders, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping with impatience, and an angry frown.

"Really, guys," she said, exasperated. "One little boy, and you're all reduced to savages? This is a _board room._" Her dangerous eyes snapped to Wilma. "_I'll _hold Sherman as Mr. Peabody presents his invention. Everyone else can have a seat."

Dejected, the women slouched back into their chairs and Wilma handed Sherman off to Charlene.

"As long as it's alright with you, Mr. Peabody?" Charlene asked gently.

Mr. Peabody did a quick visual inspection of his boy: no harm done, and he certainly didn't seem upset like Mr. Peabody was. Sherman was too preoccupied with his new rattle.

"Yes," Mr. Peabody sighed, the anxiety not fully seeping out of him. "That's quite alright with me."

The presentation was a success. It went by perfectly, all of Mr. Peabody's graphs, numbers, and demonstrations dazzling the committee. He received a standing ovation once the lights came back on, and he felt more like his old self as he courteously bowed with confident, narrowed eyes and a smirk.

Outside the meeting room, Mr. Peabody shook Charlene's hand with vigor and calmness. In his other hand was Sherman, and that was what really calmed him down.

"It's one of the most influential and ingenious things I've come across in years," Charlene gushed. "I'll be emailing you soon with offers on how to get it out on the market. But you surely have this council's livid approval."

"My most sincere thanks," Mr. Peabody said. "For your approval…and your help back there," he added, embarrassed. "I didn't know _how _I was going to get them to cease and desist."

Charlene smiled and waved a hand. "I'm so sorry for their behavior. But I have to admit, your boy's worth a cat fight over. Those glasses are very cute."

Sherman gurgled and hunched his body over Mr. Peabody's shoulder.

"He gets it from me," Mr. Peabody said with a chuckle.

"You know, you both are quite impressive," Charlene said. "You, obviously, with your genius, but your baby sure knows how to keep his cool. My daughter had stranger anxiety until she was three. But Sherman's already a social butterfly."

"Yes, well, I suppose he does quite well _insecting_ social groups," Mr. Peabody joked.

Charlene stared at him.

"Insecting? Instead of inspecting?"

"Oh!" Charlene burst out laughing. "Peabody, you just cover every corner, don't you?"

"I try." Mr. Peabody grinned.

He left a couple minutes later, but as he revved up his scooter, he couldn't help but cast a careful look at Sherman.

His boy may have conquered his stranger anxiety, but Mr. Peabody sure hadn't conquered his yet.


End file.
